The Sky-Warriors
by sealgaire
Summary: Tyrr Gunnarson leaves his warlike existence on the frozen Deathworld of Fenris behind to begin a new, even more warlike existence as a Vlyka Fenryka; A Space Wolf. Rated T for cursing, evisceration, mild sexual references and power axes.
1. All Sagas start somewhere

Tyrr Gunnarson was seventeen years old and he was going insane.

From the age of thirteen had been one of the most able fighters in his clan, his father's voice swelled with pride when he spoke of his eldest child. The Shaman had declared him to be blessed by the Allfather and the ancestors.

Now they glanced sideways at him when he walked by, muttering about curses, evil spirits and all manner of things.

It had begun in the previous cycle of the moon; a raiding party from the Greyclaw tribe had attacked the camp. Tyrr had been repairing snowshoes, a necessity on the ice-bound world of Fenris, when the flaming torches had flown from the cowardly bastard's hiding places.

Not bothering to find a weapon, Tyrr had charged headlong at the group of fifteen raiders. The furs they had needed to stay warm while hiding weighed them down and they couldn't react fast enough as the young man barreled into their midst, breaking a neck in a heartbeat, wrestling another's flint halberd from him and laying waste to the others until he was joined by his comrades.

It was as he kicked in the skull of the last one, the blood thirstily drunk by the snow, that he saw a sight that had made even his boiling blood turn to ice; a shadowy figure, too tall and broad to be a man, with glowing eyes watching from a stand of pine trees across from the little battlefield.

He had turned to Karl and pointed at the monstrosity, but Karl saw nothing and when Tyrr looked again there was nothing but freezing wind and evening shadows.

_Perhaps my mistake was insisting it was real…_

His friends had thought he was playing tricks, but that was not like him. When he brought up the apparition at evening meals for several days after, people stopped sitting near him if they could help it, some narrowed their eyes when he joined their group.

…..

The second time he'd seen it, he and one of his more loyal friends, Hegg, had been hunting elk. Springing the trap, the pair drove a large stag into some trees, where the beast's three-metre antler span eventually prevented it from passing between the snow covered trunks. As he pulled his spear from their quarry's neck, a red glow between the trees caught his attention.

_Those eyes again!_

He shouted to Hegg and took off towards the thing. But once again it was nowhere to be seen after he looked away for a split second to find his footing while sprinting through the trees.

His friend dragged him back to the elk to strip the carcass and when they got to the camp Hegg blabbed to his sister about Tyrr's 'ghost'.

Word got around and now very few of his hunting group wanted much to do with him, only speaking with him for the minimum amount of time and only when the had to. Girls who had blushed when the dashing young warrior spoke or smiled to them now resolutely looked at anything else but him. Older men spat after saying his name and grumbled about bad luck. All of his achievements, fighting prowess, intelligence, tracking skills and even his luck with women were seen as evidence of… something bad anyway.

Still, the name Gunnarson made everyone think twice about trying to kill him or exile him for now, Gunnar Skjaldson was chief of the Stone Wolves tribe. Just like an alpha wolf, pissing him off was a great way to wind up minus some body parts.

But when the hunting party he was attached to re-joined the rest of the tribe in a few weeks someone would tell his father what had gone on and then he'd no doubt be given to the Shamans with bound hands and tested for magick or wytchery or something.

He really hoped he wasn't a wytch. He'd heard tell of them. Some were insane and killed folk with fire from their eyes and lightening from their fingers. _Or is it the other way around? _Others weren't bad, but their curse made them go mad in fights and explode their foes and then themselves. No matter what they did, all the stories about them ended with them killing themselves or being taken away by the Sky-Warriors.

_Sky-Warriors…_

The Bards said the Sky-Warriors served the Allfather. Soaring across the stars in metal boats to fight his enemies. They chose their members from the finest warriors on Fenris. They described them as twice the height of a man, some said their armour was grey, others said it was yellow. Still others said they fought naked and had the teeth of wolves.

Tyrr wanted to believe the Sky-Warriors were watching him. But it seemed a little more likely he was going mad with wytchery.

Hegg said his Great-uncle had become a Sky-Warrior, All the kids had laughed at him until one feast-day a Bard told the tale of a Stone Wolves victory over the Snowstriders. After the battle, a Stone Wolf lay dying after being pierced through the gut by a spear. Single-handedly killing the enemy Chief and his retinue at the cost of his own life. As his comrades gathered round him a massive figure had appeared, pushed them aside and claimed his body. Carrying him off as the dumbstruck men watched, too scared to follow. A Shaman had confirmed it was a relative of Hegg's.

Life on Fenris was tough, but Fenrisians were supposed to be tougher; he had been fighting, killing, _winning_ for nearly half of his life, and all of a sudden it was turning him mad?

…

As the weeks wore on and they made their way back to meet the rest of the tribe for the summer, Tyrr found himself on forward scouting duties more often. Though he was alone and out ahead of the group, he didn't have to carry any of the meat, furs and other provisions they'd need to survive the upheaval of the short Fenrisian summer. That was nice.

Other than a minor run-in with a ice fiend, which had scarpered when Tyrr put out one of its eyes with a jab from his spear, the trip back to the valley where they were linking up with all the other hunting groups was uneventful. He hadn't had any more odd visions and he kept his mouth shut about the other ones. Some people had calmed down and he got less vindictive stares at mealtimes now.

_The girls still wont warm my sleeping roll though… Fuck._

That was Tyrr's last carnal thought in a while, for as he summited the ridge the smell of smoke wafted into his nostrils from the valley. Not the smoke from his father's _Aett, _though, the smoke from a cookfire didn't smell like this… there was woodsmoke, yes, but also burning fur and leather, burning flesh…

He covered the last fifty metres in a sprint and the sight in the valley below greeted him like a slap in the face.

Several groupings of tents were ablaze around the valley, their owners dead or fighting for their lives against what Tyrr could plainly see were superior numbers. His father's longhouse, made from the leather of a small Kraken said to have been slain by his Grandfather, was burning fiercely too.

Searching the battlefield desperately, Tyrr spied his father's banner close to the longhouse; the crunching of iron and stone weaponry was audible as Gunnar Skjaldson and his band of fighters stood back-to-back, surrounded on three sides by enemies and on the other by burning tents.

He recognised their foe's banner too; a curved grey paw on a crudely dyed red background, Greyclaws.

Knowing he had no time to spare, Tyrr turned around, back the way he'd come. Another man was not far behind him; if the forward scout saw trouble he could yell back at that one, who would warn the main party.

Tyrr summoned all the power he could into his lungs.

"GREYCLAAAWS!"

Fortunately the runner got the message and immediately charged back to the hunting party about three kilometres behind them.

...

Tyrr shrugged off his mammoth and elk skin cloak and hefted his spear. His Iron axe was on his belt and his long knife was in his boot. He unslung a leather and wood shield from across his shoulders, slipping his hand into the woven grip.

There was glory to be won this day.

Bellowing a wordless challenge to any who dared face him, Tyrr Gunnarson hurtled down the slope towards the fray. His spear was lost, embedded in the side of a Greyclaw who had been locked in a wrestling match with a woman Tyrr recognised as his friend Annika's cousin. Not bothering to stop and retrieve it he charged onwards to where the banners of Greyclaw and Stone Wolf were almost touching, there he'd find his father and some enemies worthy of his skill.

He leapt clear over a burning tent and his knees collided with the back of a Greyclaw rushing to the same fight he was aiming for. Slamming the man into the ice and dirt Tyrr rolled to his feet, barely losing momentum and burying his axe in the forehead of a surprised looking warrior.

He howled in the man's face as blood erupted from his skull, kicking the corpse away from him to free the axe. The main event was metres away now; thirty or so Greyclaw cowards were grappling with maybe twelve Stone Wolves, Tyrr's father at the front, laying into his enemies with a massive sword carved from Kraken beak, also his Grandfathers.

Tyrr rushed at the side of the melee, taking a man by surprise, it wasn't particularly honourable to kill a man by surprise attack but neither was outnumbering your enemy by more than double, so Tyrr wasn't too bothered. He roared at the Greyclaws and backed off slightly.

Three of them noticed their friend's demise and rounded on Tyrr.

"So you troll-spawn think you have the balls to face me?!" He challenged. "I'm gonna cut off your heads and make your sisters bear my children!"

The three men lunged for him, but they were tired from nearly an hour of constant battle and Tyrr was fresh. He backpedalled quickly and one of the men overbalanced as his spear thrust through the air where Tyrr's head had been, expecting to encounter flesh he leaned forward too far. Tyrr's shield batted the spearpoint upwards, simultaneously taking care of the other pair's weapons as he swung his axe into the spearman's armpit.

Following through quickly he ended up behind his enemies, the spearman fell too his knees in a panic, trying to staunch his escaping lifeblood as it spurted out from his severed artery.

Tyrr swung his axe nonchalantly in his hand, spraying blood at the remaining pair, who warily advanced, one with a large warhammer, the other a long knife and shield.

"Come to me cowards! You need lessons in fighting?" His taunting covered his true purpose, while he talked, they wouldn't notice him prepare to strike…

As the one with the warhammer drew back to swing, Tyrr leapt forward like lightening, kicking the man in the chest. Combined with the backward momentum from swinging the warhammer the kick sent him to the ground and Tyrr immediately used the break to lay into into his companion.

Hooking his axe on the top of his opponent's shield Tyrr tore it from his grasp, at the same time he swung with his own shield, using it to snag the man's knife and leaving him defenceless as the axe came around once more and bit into his neck.

Blood spurted up Tyrr's arm as he struck again, determined to remove the man's head from his shoulders. On the forth blow he succeeded. Turning to show it to the world he narrowly avoided being brained by a warhmmer.

"You again my old mate!" He laughed and threw the bloody head at the man.

The only reply was another swing from the hammer, Tyrr skipped over a body on the ground. The hammer was deadly if it hit, but painfully slow to wield.

The man swung his hammer back around his leg, meaning to rush forward with an upward swing, even if caught on his shield it would shatter Tyrr's arm.

Praying to the spirits Tyrr sprang towards his foe, bringing his foot down on the man's hands as he started swinging, breaking his grip. The hammer thudded into the snow as Tyrr broke his opponents nose with a headbutt.

He rammed his axe into the man's chest, needing two hands to tear it free. "Die slow…" Tyrr spat, leaping over him and rushing back to his father's banner.

Coming from behind the burning tents the Greyclaws had pushed the Stone Wolf fighters against Tyrr ran through the burning frames and burst out beside Harald, one of the younger warriors in his father's trust.

The odds were more even now, the Stone Wolves hadn't lost many, and with the three Tyrr had taken care of it was now ten against fifteen. An uneasy stalemate was in the making, the Greyclaws had no momentum and facing a fierce foe with their backs against a (burning) wall and shields protecting all sides the fight had ground down to prodding each other's shields with spears and trading insults.

"Give it up, dogs! You cannot win here!" Called a large man who seemed to be leading the Greyclaws.

Tyrr saw more Greyclaws running to join the fight, having succeeded in battering down resistance elsewhere.

Gunnar bellowed back. "Fine words, if you're a man who's too scared to fight!"

Tyrr elbowed his way through the group to his father's side, whispering in his ear. "Father, we will be reinforced by my hunting party in a short time, but they'll tear us apart before that as soon as they have the numbers… allow me to challenge this bastard to give us time!"

_And add to my conquests in battle… _

Gunnar did not take his eyes off his foes, but grinned. "Joakim! You swine! Let us end this like men, pick someone to fight in single combat against my chosen man and let that be the end of this!"

The Greyclaw leader grinned back at Gunnar. He muttered to his men, who backed off the Stone Wolf group.

Minutes later, Tyrr was grinning too, this would be a glorious fight for sure… His opponent was at least a head higher than he, and looked like one of his ancestors might be a Troll. His shield was light coloured wood and he held a short handled spear at his side.

Rolling his axe in his hand he took up a defensive stance, crouching low with his shield tight into his shoulder. Hopefully his opponent would think his size could overpower Tyrr and crush him before he could attack. He probably could too, Tyrr was counting on it.

With a roar the huge man barreled toward his opponent, who crouched lower to the ground, stupid bastard probably thought he could take it! He leapt forward over the last metre or so, aiming to plant a foot on the shield and batter this kid onto the ground where he could dispose of him easily.

Tyrr moved like fluid and slid out from under the huge man at the last possible moment, causing him to land heavily and stumble. He managed to swipe his axe across the man's back and opened up a gash above his kidney.

Spinning round, the men cautiously faced off. A few thrusts of the spear were easily blocked by Tyrr's shield, a couple of axe blows were dodged or caught by his opponent.

More Stone Wolves and Greyclaws joined the ring of observers, their own battles called off to watch the gladiatorial spectacle. Both warriors savoured the attention, whoever won here would surely have a saga started about them by the bards within the day!

Tyrr made another probing attack, but his foe saw it coming and pushed him back with the weight of his shoulder behind his shield. Tyrr stumbled back, desperately fending off spear thrusts. Finally getting his footing he managed to push back and the two warriors faced off again.

"Stone Wolf? Stone pup more like!" Laughed the giant.

Tyrr couldn't think of a decent comeback and stayed silent, bouncing on his toes. Greyclaws in the circle of watchers cheered.

The big Greyclaw charged him again, Tyrr faked dodging to the left, then leapt right. Unfortunately his opponent had better reactions than Tyrr had given him credit for and for his arrogance was clipped by the edge of the man's shield, sending him crashing to the ground. He rolled away as a thrust which would have skewered his heart whistled toward him, caught another strike on his shield and lashed out with his axe. He missed on his first swing but as he brought it back the blunt side of the head hit the side of the man's knee.

As his foe pitched to the side, momentarily forgetting Tyrr and concentrating on staying upright, Tyrr scrambled to his feet. He swung his axe at his enemy's head, but met his shield instead. Keeping his forward momentum going, Tyrr barged into him and they fell in a tangle of limbs and weaponry.

To his relief Tyrr managed to stay on top, there was a funny feeling in his side but he ignored it as he brought his axe up, meaning to take the man's head while his shield was trapped between their bodies.

His axe wouldn't move, it had gotten stuck in the side of the shield...

At a loss for only a split second, Tyrr abandoned the axe and instead punched the man in the face, blooded flowed from his nose and Tyrr saw the bastard's eyes tear over in the uncontrollable reaction to having your nose burst.

He felt a jerk in his side again and realised why the man wasn't defending his face; his spear was thrust through Tyrr's chest. Some of the blood on his face was his own, flowing out his mouth.

For some reason he couldn't quite fathom Tyrr didnt particularly care. He knew how to end this. His opponent was grinning at him now, thinking he'd accepted his fate. Instead of giving up, Tyrr buried his face in the man's throat, finding the adam's apple with his teeth and biting down as hard as he could.

Tyrr held on for dear life as the man started thrashing, trying to shake the insane fucker biting his windpipe off him. This was a mistake, the shaking caused Tyrr's teeth to saw into his trachea. hot liquid filled the young warrior's mouth and he screwed his eyes shut.

After what seemed like half an hour, Tyrr felt hands rolling him over. He recognised his father's worried voice and smelled a funny, plantlike smell that he believed he'd smelt in the Shaman's tent once.

He coughed and tried to speak. "Wharrr... Stone pup..."

"Yes, you did it son, it's alright."

Tyrr's heart swelled with pride, he'd won!

The Shaman's voice overrode his father's. "I'm afraid this is not alright, son of Skjald, his wound is beyond my skill to heal. The spearhead is lodged in his lung and there is no way to repair this insult to his body... his soul will no doubt join your father's in the feasting hall of the gods soon."

Tyrr tried to protest this verdict, Death could go fuck a kraken, Tyrr Gunnarson had things he wanted to do! The only sound he could muster was a wracking cough and he felt blood spill onto his chin again.

Suddenly shouts erupted from all around him, the shadow the Shaman was casting disappeared from Tyrr's fading sight. He struggled to turn his head to see what was going on but couldn't.

A shadow fell upon him again, but this one was bigger, clad in what looked like black iron with two red eyes and the skull of a wolf for a head.

Tyrr gurgled a laugh, Death. That's who must have been shadowing him these past weeks. The large shape regarded his wound for a moment before speaking in a language he couldn't quite understand, it sounded a little like his native Juvjk but with a lot of sounds he couldn't place.

Death picked him up. The last thing he heard before losing consciousness was his father roaring something about Sky-Warriors...


	2. The Fang

_Disclaimer: I don't own the universe portrayed herein, GW does._

_Sorry it took a long time to get this out there, college work comes first unfortunately._

...

Ignoring the roaring pain in his muscles, Tyrr battled the winds determined to hurl him from his feet and to his death. He had been running since sun up and it was now mid morning. The members of his pack were a short distance ahead, also struggling to maintain a decent speed into the ferocious gale.

There were ten in his pack, they had begun with sixteen and were slowly being stripped of the weakest, by the elements, or by earning the displeasure of their masters.

Tyrr still was not entirely sure how he was still alive. He had awoken in a tent on a mountainside with a scar on his chest, along with the others. Some looked as though they too were recovering from wounds, but others seemed perfectly healthy. They seldom talked with each other, out of competition and being too tired after their tasks to converse.

Whatever the case, if he was the last in the group to reach the peak of the mountain the Sky-Warriors informed them was named Bjorn's Tooth he'd be left there like the others who had failed a task to die from exposure.

Fortunately for him, one of the young men at the front of the runners seemed to be flagging; he had started too strongly and was running out of steam at halfway. Tyrr resisted the urge to quicken his pace to try and outstrip the other boy; if he kept up this speed he was sure he'd reach the summit in fourth or fifth place.

Tyrr had been a strong runner before the training in the mountains of Asaheim had begun, but in the last four months or so he'd definitely improved in strength and stamina. They were being fed like kings every day and were by now prime examples of the human physique. The Sky-Warriors were not cruel, and wanted each aspirant to their ranks to have the best chance his body could give him to succeed.

The freezing wind scoured his face as he drew nearer to his fellows. He could now recognise the runner now struggling to keep place at the front as Vargas, this was a shame: he was friendly with Vargas. Or as friendly as one can be with someone competing to take an ever diminishing number of places or face death.

He drew level with the boy in front of him, Tyrr momentarily debated tripping him up, but decided he'd win by speed or not at all. Besides, they were still a good distance from the summit, it was not quite time to panic of you were coming last.

Up ahead, it appeared that another of the claw pack had no such reservations; as Andars overtook Vargas, he struck out with his elbow to hit him in the neck.

Choking, Vargas stumbled and very nearly tripped, but kept his feet as he fell back to fourth place. The other members of the pack said nothing, it would be pointless to speak in the roaring wind, but a glance went around that told everyone what they needed to know: Andars was not going to make it if anyone with honour in the pack had something to say about it.

The nine aspiring Warriors abandoned their energy-saving pace and sprinted at Andars, who could neither see nor hear his impending fate.

The first to catch up with him, Jann, kicked Andar's foot as it began to move forward, causing him to kick himself in the heel of his other foot and fall flat on his face into the icy rocks, each of the others made sure to stamp on his back as they passed.

There was no room in this pack for one who would turn on his brother.

…

The nine remaining members of the pack strode out onto the flattened area at the top of the mountain, but unlike at the conclusion of their other tasks and tests though, there was no Sky-Warrior here to greet them.

Looking around in puzzlement, Tyrr heard a low rumbling noise that seemed to be coming from all directions. He looked at his pack; they were gazing around for the source too but with the wind it was hard to discern what it was.

A shadow blotted out the morning sun and the pack looked to the sky, at first Tyrr took the massive shape for a dragon or drake he had heard tales of but it seemed to odd a shape to be an animal.

The shape resolved out of the clouds into what appeared to be a boat, but fashioned from metal and with tiny wings.

The Thunderhawk _Fang of Ulrich _lowered its forward hold'sboarding ramp as it hovered steadily by the mountaintop, defying the wind attempting to dash it against the ice. As the ramp finished lowering, several men in furs leapt to the ground and beckoned to the aspirants, who by now were warily staring at the unfamiliar sky-boat-thing that had dropped out of the clouds beside them.

Tyrr and Vargas started walking forward slowly, until an amplified voice rang out over the mountaintop.

"ANY OF YOU PUPS NOT ON THIS VESSEL WITHIN THE MINUTE WILL REMAIN HERE TO FREEZE!"

At this the rest of the group jogged forward and leapt onto the ramp. Inside they were greeted by the motionless figures of two enormous men in black armour; the Warriors who had overseen the tasks they had been given.

Keeping his distance from the towering figures Tyrr barely overheard one mutter to his companion, "It would seem either the aspirants or the mountain have done our job for us; only nine made it to the top."

The other merely readjusted the pelt of an enormous wolf that hung from his shoulders and eyed up the assembled young men. Who were by now staring about in wonder at the inside of the flying boat that had swallowed them whole. He stepped forward and the aspirants stiffened warily.

The towering figure did something Tyrr had never expected to see; he reached up to his wolfskull helmet and with a hiss of escaping air, lifted it from his head.

Tyrr's first thought was that the man must have suffered some horrific blow to the face, that was the only explanation he could think of for the odd dimensions of the cheekbones. But then the other one remove his headgear too and Tyrr saw that he had the same slightly elongated face and realised it must be deliberate, both of them had unmistakably wolfish features.

"Congratulations are in order, you have all proved yourselves worthy of a chance to join our ranks…" Said the one who had stepped forward, his voice was slightly too deep to be called human, each word had a slight rasp as though he was growling rather than talking.

That caused a stir amongst the men, had they not proved themselves over the last few months? They had been forced to hold huge stones above their heads with whoever dropped theirs first suffering a quick death at the hands of the watching warriors, they had run for miles at a time, sometimes through the night. Surely they had shown they were the best there was to be had on Fenris?

Sensing their puzzlement, the second Sky-warrior stepped forward. "The challenges you have faced up to now have been mostly physical, testing your bodies and your will to live. But there are some weaknesses of the mind and spirit that can only be found with… special methods."

…

Tyrr was woken from his sleep by a creaking noise from near the door of the hall where he and his fellows had rested for three days after the flying boat (which he had learned was called a Thunderhawk) had delivered them into the largest building he had ever seen.

A man dressed in a fine tunic strode into the middle of the room, holding a lamp that produced more light than something of its size should be able to. Tyrr had seen many things like that here; things that produced light with no fire, doors made of metal that opened without touch. What sort of place was this?

The man, he saw, was of normal height. Not a Sky-Warrior then. Tyrr sat up in the bed as the man called out to the young men. "Young Lords, my masters bid you rise from your sleep and join them for the drinking of the Wolf Spirit."

_I'm a lord now? And drinking the what? _Mused Tyrr as he swung his legs out of bed and pulled on the robe he had been given to replace his furs when he arrived. The others were doing the same and within minutes they were filing down a corridor, led by the man who had woken them.

Soon, the path they had taken met with another and the corridor widened. There they were greeted by four towering men in furs who dismissed the servant and led the small company on through a maze of corridors. As they walked one of the older Sky-Warriors explained they were in the Aett of something called the Space Wolves, Tyrr's eyes widened as the man explained that the place was built _inside _a mountain and that several thousand people lived in it.

Soon they congregated outside a pair of the largest doors any of them had ever seen. Tyrr was certain one of those Thunderhawks could fly through them. At the door there were several other small groups of young men dressed in the same tunics Tyrr's group were wearing.

The old Warrior who had been giving them the architecture lesson made a cursory count and then shouted at them to form into lines. Hurrying into formation behind Vargas, Tyrr peered over the other boy's shoulder as the huge doors groaned and began to swing inwards, pulled by some unseen mechanism.

The huge doors opened into a massive hall that reminded Tyrr of his father's longhouse on a feast day but on a massive scale; huge pillars of granite ran in rows for what must have been hundreds of metres holding up an arched ceiling upon which were painted massive scenes of battles between men in grey armour and all manner of monstrous foes, some human_ish, _others totally alien.

As the lines of robed aspirants trooped up the centre of the hall, Tyrr saw ranks of Sky-Warriors in furs and fine robes standing at the other end of the hall in front of a raised platform. Upon which several men with wolfskin cloaks, the wolf heads over their heads as hoods, stood waiting.

Tyrr's group was lead up to the front of the platform, where the warrior leading them motioned for them to form a line abreast, so that each of them were shoulder to shoulder facing the Priests above them.

The hooded priest in the middle of the assembly on the platform raised his arms above his head, a large cup in his hands. "Kneel, any who thinks himself worthy and wishes to drink and test his resolve." The man snarled.

Tyrr quickly kneeled and bowed his head slightly, as all the other aspirants fell to their knees around him.

"Let the first claw come forth…" called another priest to the side of the one holding the cup aloft.

"Stand." Tyrr heard from behind him, he slowly got to his feet, looking around to make sure it was indeed his claw pack that were standing.

"Approach." Said the priest holding the cup as he stepped forward slightly, the other priests drawing back from him as Tyrr's claw slowly climbed the set of steps up to him.

"Gather round." He ordered, gesturing as he did so. The young men quickly obeyed and the nine made a semicircle in front of him.

"Kneel." He commanded again.

"As Tyrr knelt he saw the priest turn to the boy to his right.

"Drink."

The boy took a sip from the offered cup, which was quickly removed from in front of him and thrust into Tyrr's face.

"Drink."

Tyrr put his lips to the edge of the cup and the priest tilted the vessel so that Tyrr got a mouthful of the liquid it contained, it was a clear brown like the tea he liked from pine bark but tasted sharply of something he couldn't identify.

He swallowed the stuff as the cup was taken to the next kneeling aspirant in line. He felt no different but for a slight tingling sensation in his mouth.

When the last boy had taken a drink they were commanded to rise and one of the other priests gestured for them to follow. They were led back down the side of the hall to the gates through which they had entered and there were greeted by more Sky-Warriors, these, however, were heavily tattooed with runes Tyrr had never seen and massive pendants of teeth with still more ruins engraved upon them hung around their necks.

There was something perceptibly different about these warriors; Tyrr's flesh felt cold as they approached the group and he could have sworn he saw one's eyes glowing blue for a moment.

"They have partaken of the cup of Wulfen, you may take them to the gate." The hooded priest who had led them out of the hall informed the new assembly of warriors.

One of the tattooed men nodded and beckoned the group to follow him down another corridor. This one led down what seemed like an almost never-ending set of steps until the corridor began to widen. As it began to level off they rounded a corner and they were faced with yet another sight that caused Tyrr's eyes to almost fall from his face; a massive archway, carved from some kind of bone and covered in runes like those which adorned the priest in front of them, these runes glowed with an icy blue light which made them stand out clearly in the low light of the cavernous hall.

The warrior who had led them there turned to face them, he pointed behind him at the archway. "This is the gate of Morkai, if you wish to join us, you must submit yourself to our testing by walking through this portal. Those who live will be strong enough to become our brothers."

The Warrior gestured to Vargas, who slowly started to walk forward until he was underneath the gate. The rest watched with interest as Vargas suddenly halted in his tracks, then with alarm as the boy clutched his head and the runes on the gate glowed brighter, the light illuminating a pair of men on the other side of the gate. Their eyes were closed and they seemed to be chanting under their breath.

Vargas pitched forward onto the stone floor, still clutching the side of his head. For what seemed like minutes he lay, occasionally squirming, until finally the glowing ruins faded and the chanting priests strode forward to help a dazed Vargas to his feet.

The next boy the priest beckoned to walk forward moved more warily than Vargas, knowing now what the gate did. He too stopped as if frozen under the gateway and grabbed his head, covering his ears and shaking his head vigorously. He sank to his knees, grunting in pain as the runes on the gate revealed more priests with closed eyes, one of them hadn't closed his eyes and Tyrr saw them glowing the same colour as the runes on the gate.

A curious expression came over the face of the priest with his eyes open; he turned to his partner, who was making a similar face. As one they looked at each other, then down at the boy on the ground. One of them raised a hand and the air in the hall turned cold as lightening arced from the warrior's hand toward the young man on the ground, he jerked momentarily before lying still.

The Sky-Warrior with the pack sighed. "His mind was weak, he was vulnerable to corruption." He explained to nobody in particular.

_Wytchs… _Tyrr realised.

All too soon it was Tyrr's turn to walk through the gate. He padded forward gingerly, what if he were found unworthy?

His thoughts were cut short by what felt like a cold hand covering his face, sliding fingers in his ears and squeezing his temples. Like the others he grabbed at his head but there was nothing to pull off.

_There was another mind inside his own… Ice instead of blood was running through his veins, trying to push his eyes forward out of his skull and… _

_**DO NOT FIGHT**_

_A voice like a blizzard, red hot and frozen at the same time bellowed in his head, each word inflicting more pain on the back of his eyes. _

_Just take your mind off it and let them do their work._

Something cool hit Tyrr in the face. _Was that the floor?_

Suddenly it felt like every memory he had was being dragged into his mind's eye at once, shifting and clamouring for attention all at once, he was experiencing every stage of his life simultaneously, flowing forward, flowing backward all at the same time, every detail being picked at and linked with other points in his existence.

_The first man I killed…_

_Eating raw seal blubber on a longboat…_

All of a sudden there was no more icy hand over his face and he was being picked up as though he weighed nothing by strong arms.

...

The next clear sensation he felt was that of being tied to a flat surface, he tried to look around but his head was held in place. All he could see was a light focused on him from above and odd, metallic arms posed over him.

"We're ready to begin bestowing the gifts of Russ upon this one." Growled a voice from his left.

A huge hand pressed down on his chest as another hand with a knife appeared over his abdomen, he tried to move but was too weak to struggle.

"It's easier if you don't resist, pup." Said another voice, this time the voice sounded friendly.

Tyrr tried his best to stay still as the knife bit into the flesh just below his ribs, he felt blood pouring from his side and his vision went blurry.

He passed out as a hand was thrust into his chest cavity.


	3. Asaheim

_Games Workshop owns the universe portrayed hereafter, I just write stuff._

….

Thruster downdraft scoured fresh snow down to the ice beneath as the _Fang of Ulrich _slowly descended to within three feet of the frozen lake that would serve as the start of its cargo's final trial.

The forward ramp lowered and a figure that would have terrified any human leapt nimbly to the ice. Tyrr Gunnarson stood at almost eight feet tall and was visibly bulkier than he had been eight months ago, exuding raw power.

He loped quickly forward as the gunship pulled away to avoid the burning air of the thrusters. He had a fine cloak draped over his shoulders and light trousers and shoes for his legs and feet but bore no other clothing, yet despite the bone-chilling conditions he barely registered the temperature.

As the sound of the machine faded away into the sky Tyrr gazed at the mountains on the horizon, he could make out his new home and destination, the Fang. It was the highest mountain on Asaheim and the planet, surrounded by multiple manmade structures and Tyrr's sharp eyes picked out several large vessels hanging in the sky too.

His eyes, they were now something else entirely, even at almost 200 miles he could spot those ships.

Wrinkling his nose against the wind, he set off toward the mountains, poking at the snow and ice in front of him with the butt of his spear to make sure the lake was as frozen as it seemed. He ran his tongue over his lips, dried in an instant by the breeze. His tongue caught on one of his canine teeth, he still wasn't used to how long they were yet; they now jutted down a full centimetre lower than they should on a normal human.

He had lain on a cold table deep within the mountain for weeks, gaining consciousness only a handful of times as men and machines sliced his flesh and made him into something else.

"_Prepare the ossmodula… he awakens? A tough one, this. No matter, make the incision…" _

When he awoke fully after that ordeal he felt different, he had knowledge of how to do things that he hadn't learned, he knew how to breathe with his third lung. Somehow waking up knowing that he had another lung didn't surprise him. Nor did it surprise him when, after several more weeks of training to use his new abilities, he was taught about things like space travel, the Warp and the existence of other planets. Somehow he had half learned these things in the machines.

He reached the edge of the lake and strode into the boulder field that extended up the first mountain of many that he would need to climb in his trek across Asaheim.

He crested the small mountain without so much as a heavy breath and got his first good view of the terrain that lay between him and the Fang. It was a frozen hell as far as the eye could see, artificially enhanced eye or not. Filled with glacial crevasses that could swallow a battle barge, ravenous creatures and all scoured by ceaseless, biting winds.

Tyrr smirked to himself; this would be a good start to his saga.

…..

The image on the holo-projector flickered and green light materialised into the recorded shape of a portly man's head and torso before the eyes of Great Wolf Logan Grimnar and the three Wolf Lords gathered in the communication tower of the Fang.

The man on the projection looked like he belonged in a fancy restaurant in the highest spire of a pleasure world rather than relaying military requests, but made a brave effort.

"_My Lords, It is with great honour that I send greetings from house Hax and the Office of governor of the Calixis Sector. I have been instructed to request aid from the valiant Astartes of your chapter on a matter of the gravest importance by representatives of His most Holy Inquisition"_

"Cursed sycophants never get to the bloody point quickly do they?" Muttered Lord Kjarl Grimblood.

"_Nearly a year ago contact was lost with an Adeptus Mechanicus explorator team in the Koronus expanse, in the last several months we have lost contact with several Navy vessels in the expanse, as well as an entire detachment of the Adepta Sororitas sent to investigate if heresy was the cause of the ship's silence, all in close proximity to the Mechanicus team's area of operation._

Bran Redmaw leaned toward Grimblood. "The Ork filth are known to have some kind of empire in that region, are they not?"

"Indeed…"

"_Whether some foul Xenos or traitorous scum have amassed a force in Koronus the Inquisition feels that the aid of the Wolves of Fenris would be a valuable asset in the defence of the Imperium's borders. Our Astropaths will be awaiting your reply._

The recording trailed off with a recitation of several noble titles and Imperial dictates to do with house Hax, which the space marines ignored.

Grimnar bared his fangs and wrinkled his nose as he spoke. "Much as I despise the fanatics in the Inquisition, this news is troubling and I doubt they would have asked for our assistance unless they felt they had no other choice… I believe we must dispatch a force to the expanse."

"Agreed. If a sector and the lives within were not at stake I'd say the Inquisition dogs could fight alone." Mused Erik Morkai.

"Your great company still awaits fresh numbers after the Armageddon campaign, does it not?" Inquired the Great Wolf.

"Aye, I intend to have replenished the ranks within two weeks after the latest bunch finish their blooding." Replied Morkai.

"I believe the newly blooded brothers should be tested in blood and fire as soon as possible, you will take three packs to strengthen your numbers and whatever other brothers you wish to the Koronus expanse and meet this threat." Instructed Grimnar.

Erik grinned.

…..

"_Foulest of our enemies are the traitors… The false gods wait for fear and doubt to take hold of the mind, as it did to many who were once our brothers… only unwavering faith in the Allfather will lead to the salvation of mankind…"_

Remembering his lessons as he walked, Tyrr fought back the urge to howl in rage and sprint across the snows in search of foes to kill, no, not kill… Break utterly, tear to shreds with his teeth and bare hands.

He swallowed the hunger, he new of this curse that afflicted all who drank from the Cup of Wulfen. Failure to resist would leave him a frenzied killing machine that would be banished to these wastes for the rest of his life. Thinking of enemies and traitors caused a bubble of that rage to float to the surface of his mind, control was something he needed to keep a grip on.

He distracted himself by examining the head of his spear; the metal was finer than anything he'd seen in the foggy memories of his previous life. The smiths he knew would sell their mothers to be able to make something this fine. He had learned it was a metal called steel, some alloy of iron. Other metals and weapons he'd seen in his short time training to use his improved body still boggled his mind; lumps of steel called bolters that roared and propelled tiny pieces of metal that flew so fast as to tear rock to shreds, others that threw fire a hundred paces and swords with saw teeth that spun faster than the eye could follow.

He hefted the spear and spun it in his hand; it felt good to have a weapon in his grip again.

He'd been walking for nearly a week and had covered a large part of the distance to the Fang, but going would be slower as the mountains increased in size and huge glaciers flowed across his path, forcing him to go at a crawling pace to ensure he didn't fall to his death in a crevasse, never to be found.

As he skirted around one of the larger, more obvious cracks in the glacier a grinding, growling noise rose above the whistling wind. Tyrr froze in his tracks, some beast? Or merely the ice shifting slightly as the glacier flowed slowly over the rock? He eyed the crevasse suspiciously and tightened his grip on his spear. Due to the yearly destruction of the rest of the planet, Asaheim was home to savage creatures that could survive nowhere else and as such were unknown to the human population.

His nose told him something was wrong.

Tyrr lightly stepped back from the dark hole in the ice, then made his way quickly towards the far side of the glacier, still almost a kilometre away.

The Ice creaked and growled again.

Tyrr turned back to the crevasse in time to see a scaly, three-clawed hand emerge from the depths and take hold of the ice outside the hole. He glanced behind to assess the terrain, could he make it to the far side and fight this thing on more stable ground where his every step wouldn't include the risk of falling through the ice?

He would have to try.

Casting off his cloak, he sprinted across an area of what he prayed to the Emperor was solid ice and headed for an area where the tops of several boulders protruded from the glacier, the ice should be strong there if it could support the huge rocks. He leapt with all his might to the top of the first boulder and bounded across his new pathway. His augmented leg muscles propelled him in huge arcs from rock to rock.

As he dropped from the last rock he glanced over his shoulder, two hundred metres behind him, hauling its tail from its icy home the frost-coloured beast shrieked after its prey. White spines covered its three-metre body and daggerlike teeth festooned its mouth.

As adrenaline and other battle hormones flooded his brain, Tyrr noted in the back of his mind that he was not in the least bit afraid of this beast. He didn't think he was capable. In any case he picked up his pace, charging across the frozen river at a pace that would astonish a normal, person; someone so large should not move that fast.

It was eight hundred metres from the hole in the ice; Tyrr covered it in barely a minute, jumping from each patch of solid ice to the next. He was barely out of breathe as he reached the other side and turned to face the foe hot on his heels.

The creature, whatever it was, dug its claws into the ice and leapt for him with talons outstretched. Tyrr rolled to the side and it grasped thin air, tumbling through the snow. Tyrr flew at it, slashing with his spear and opened a deep hole in the joint of one of its hind legs. The beast flailed and it caught him across the chest with a bone-crunching blow of its claws.

Tyrr was flung bodily through the air, losing his grip on the spear, which snapped as the monster righted itself. It howled at its attacker and limped in a circle around him, warier now that its prey had demonstrated that it was more dangerous than it looked.

Tyrr scrambled to his feet and drew his knife, which would have been a sword in a mortal's hands. The beast snapped at him and he slashed at its snout, causing it to roar again and continue circling.

Seeing the end of his spear was still embedded its back leg along with the last foot or so of the handle, Tyrr devised a plan as the beast snarled again.

Going on the offensive, he charged the creature, which drew back a clawed hand to crush him into the ground. As it swiped at him, Tyrr fell to his knees and leaned back, sliding through the snow as the talons sailed over him. He grabbed the haft of the spear with his left hand and forced it deeper into the beasts flesh as he opened a gash along its belly with the knife.

Blood covered his face as the thing screeched in pain, once again managing to kick him, this time a claw sliced into his arm. Tyrr bellowed and ripped the spear free from its home and buried it in the wound his knife had created.

The beast made several retching sounds as it flopped on top of him, spasming and kicking. He shoved it off him and rolled through the snow. Leaping to his feet in case he hadn't managed to end his enemy's life.

The creature croaked and spat its last few breaths, its eye hatefully glaring at Tyrr until its head thudded to the ground and lay still.

Tyrr sat down heavily, wiping blood of his face. He remembered the wound in his arm and ran his hand over it; the skin had already sealed itself in a thick scab. _Larraman's organ:_ He recalled the name of the addition to his body that clotted a space marine's blood in seconds.

He sat for a few moments until the wind reminded him that he was shirtless on the side of a glacier. He cast his eyes back over the ice to where he'd dropped his cloak, then looked back at the scaly creature he had slain. He would certainly want a trophy to brag about back in the feasting hall and he didn't fancy walking back to fetch his cloak.

He spun his knife between his fingers and went to work.

….

Tyrr dug his toes into the icy path that led up to the doors of the Fang, the skin of his conquered enemy had served him well as a cloak in the week of walking it had taken to reach the base of Asaheim's highest mountain, but his leg muscles were stiff and he had been feeling the chill in the last few days of his journey.

He reached the huge door and pounded on the steel. Nothing happened. After several moments he bashed it with the butt of his knife.

He grumbled and kicked the door until a creaking noise made him realise that a smaller set of doors were opening within the larger ones. He stepped back as a servant stepped out and bowed, then indicated for him to enter.

As the doors shut behind him he strode into the large hall where several priests and warriors were assembled, at the sight of the trophy he wore several nodded appreciatively.

One of the priests stepped forward and Tyrr went to one knee before him. The priest, his hand covered in blood, drew two lines on each side of his face.

"Stand, Tyrr Wyrmslayer. As our Battle Brother."

…

_So we're done with the intro… now we can get onto the fun stuff! _


	4. The Hulk

I Don't own the universe portrayed hereafter and stuff.

…

Muttering prayers and pleas to the Omnissiah, Magos-Explorator Trantor Magelloran attacked the bulkhead door's control panel with a flurry of mechadendrites and bionic instrumentation. The roar of boltgun fire and the horrific tearing sounds of rounds shredding the deck and the walls all around the little group drowned out the whirring and clicking noises of his struggle.

Sister DeVall turned away from the firefight with a furious question on her lips about why the door wasn't opening, but a glowing lance of energy transfixed her neck and she slumped against his back.

One of her comrades yelled the question for her. The words certainly did not show the respect due to the machine-spirit of the door console but Magelloran decided he could overlook it as one of his mechadendrite-mounted eyes advised him to duck as a bullet flew at his head.

The console beeped and whirred obstinately one last time before a soft hissing heralded the Magos' success and the door slid open. The Sister superior bellowed at her squad to move but it was hardly required as the group piled through the bulkhead.

As the door slammed shut disturbing screams and inhuman shrieks echoed from the shadows down the corridor, followed by a few parting shots before the shadows boiled and writhed in anger at the escape of their prey.

Two of the Sisters, Krugen and Auala, began stalking through the room, ensuring no new enemy was now locked in with them.

Magos Magelloran sighed as the Sister superior fired two rounds from her bolt pistol into the door's console.

She glared at him. "Would you have the foulness that yet taints the rest of your vessel enter this room, priest?"

He clicked in holy binary and averted his gaze.

…

The smell of burning incense and holy oils filled Tyrr Gunnarson's nostrils as he knelt alongside Andars, Esbiorn and Kodran. The pale skin of their chests was newly discoloured from the collarbone to just below the navel and several electronic ports protruded from their stomachs and two from points on their spines.

A hooded and hunched figure in red robes padded into the chamber and spoke in an odd, mechanical rasp. "Brother Gunnarson…"

Andars elbowed Tyrr lightly on the arm and grinned as Tyrr unfolded himself and followed the robed man, at least he _thought _it was a man, into a long room.

The room had a high, vaulted ceiling and seemed to stretch on for miles. It was wide and only dimly lit by candles that were ferried about through the air by what appeared to be skulls with odd metal attachments. Tyrr could make out the shapes of huge constructs, each with a flurry of activity around it

There were recessed areas every few paces along the walls on either side of him and Tyrr caught glimpses of many red-robed figures scurrying around each one, carrying huge blue-grey pieces of armour.

He was so caught up in gazing at the magnificent battledress that he almost failed to notice the warrior he was led to. The man was clad in the blue-grey armour of the other marines, but on his back several huge instruments protruded from the power pack and a black and white symbol of a skull adorned his right shoulder pad.

The Techmarine regarded a dataslate in his hand for a moment and then pointed towards an unoccupied recess in the wall.

The robed figure guiding Tyrr was joined by several others as he stepped into what he now saw was in fact a small room. Upon several stone plinths there lay the same blue-grey armour that he had seen on so many of the warriors whose brotherhood he was now a part of.

He was unable to stop himself from grinning as the small tech-priest bowed and motioned toward the plinths. "If you would please stand there, we may begin, my lord."

…..

Sister superior Florentina Cialella glowered at the auspex readout that Novice Merisier held in front of her. Despite the device's insistence that they were the only living beings within a one hundred and fifty metre radius there were constant grinding and banging noises on the bulkhead door through which they had come, as well as the occasional howling and hooting fits of whatever fiend was trying to get in.

Her squad had been one of five sent aboard the _Fides et Fortitudine_ to investigate the disappearance of the Naval cruiser _Lance of Saint Caius_, which in turn had been patrolling the expanse in the area that the Mechanicus Explorator vessel _De Jucidibus _had gone missing in. They had found both vessels all right, and many more besides, both ships were now part of the agglomeration of ships and other debris that made up the space hulk that their own ship had been absorbed into.

Now just they and Magos-Explorator Magelloran remained.

The Tech-priest was shuffling about the room, metallic instruments visible through tears in his robes where skin should have shown. He paused to examine a plate on one of the walls.

"We are still aboard the _De Jucidibus._" He clicked. "According to this we are in the crew kitchen, starboard side." His matter-of-fact, toneless voice belied the fear that gripped his metal heart.

Navigating the corridors and chambers of the hulk had proven disorientating and disturbing. Twice, although travelling in a straight line, the Sister superior could have sworn they passed through the same room, and they had encountered areas where the _Jucidibus _had been intruded into by other parts of the hulk.

"The life support systems are still active in most areas on the starboard side." Called Sister Fensel, looking up from a display in the corner of the room.

Cialella cast her eyes to the other entrance to the kitchen; the doorway and the metal bulkhead itself had deformed and would clearly never open again through conventional means.

"Sister Fensel, how much fuel do you have left for your melta?" Cialella asked. The fusion gun-wielding sister followed her gaze to the bulkhead.

"Enough."

…..

Tyrr shrugged his shoulders as armour plates were attached to his upper arms, although the armour would soon be powered up at the moment he could barely move due to its immense weight, enhanced strength notwithstanding.

He stared at the pauldron that would soon adorn his right shoulder. Then twin-headed visage of Morkai scowled back at him. The Lord of his company had been given the moniker of the guardian of the underworld for his own terrifying demeanour. If the other Lords could fear, it was said, they would fear Erik Morkai.

He licked his lips at the thought of fighting alongside such esteemed warriors.

The left pauldron was slid over his shoulder, the red stripes on a yellow field marking his pack.

As his right pauldron was affixed to his shoulder a marine with a pack marking design that matched his strode into Tyrr's line of sight, the armour he wore, unlike Tyrr's newly painted suit his had chips and dents along with signs of repair. Several tokens and charms hung from a leather thong looped over his company pauldron.

Tyrr met sergeant Ingmundr's gaze as the older warrior regarded his armour with eyes that shone a faint gold in the low light.

"Sergeant." Tyrr uttered reverently. The man whose task it was to lead him in battle had been introduced to the pack upon their induction into Morkai's company and had quickly earned Tyrr's admiration, the man seemed knowledgeable and a fierce fighter in simulations they had watched but was also personable enough to drink with the pack in the feasting hall.

Ingmundr nodded his head and motioned at the pauldron being attached to his shoulder, Tyrr craned his neck and saw a series of names carved around the edge in small runes. The last name on the list was 'Sighulf'.

"Wear that well, _Wyrmslayer,_" Ingmundr grinned good-naturedly. "If you bring no honour to that armour you'll have Siggy to explain yourself to as well as the Allfather."

Tyrr stood a little straighter in the armour as he bowed his head in acquiescence with his sergeant. He had no plans to let him, the Emperor, or the fallen Sighulf, down.

Some clicking and metallic ratcheting noises came from behind him as the tech priest attached the powerpack to his armour.

All of a sudden, Tyrr could _feel_ the armour, it was no longer even remotely cumbersome; his mind processed inputs from the surface like it was another layer of skin, he hopped lightly and the servo-assisted joints propelled him into the air as though he wore nothing but the bodysuit underneath the ceramite plates.

Ingmundr nodded to him. "You're clearly all set up, when you've finished playing around report to the void port. The deployment briefing will be given once we're off world." He ordered.

Tyrr clipped his bolt pistol to the magnetic strip around the waistband of the armour as Ingmundr left.

….

Taking care to avoid the pool of molten metal collecting on the floor, squad Cialella formed up around the small door Sister Fensel was carving with her meltagun.

Looking back, Cialella saw the pupils of Merisier's eyes were dilated so much as to obscure her irises and sweat drenched her face despite the coolness of the air.

Trying to look reassuring, she smiled at the novice and thumped her shoulder affectionately. "Faith and courage, Saragh, faith and courage."

Merisier tightened her grip on the bolter in her hands and nodded, but looked as if she might be sick.

Fensel finished her work and kicked the sheet of metal, her power armour-aided strength sent the chunk of plasteel flying as though it were a piece of cardboard. She flattened herself to the rest of the door beside the hole as Krugen rushed into the corridor with bolter raised, followed swiftly by Cialella and Merisier.

"Clear!" Called Cialella. The rest of the squad dashed through the opening tailed by the Magos and began moving cautiously but quickly down the corridor towards a flight of steps.

"Novice Merisier. Auspex." Requested Cialella.

"No contacts, Sister Superior."

A light strip on the ceiling flickered and the squad flattened themselves against the walls.

After several seconds of silence the light flickered again and the group relaxed enough to detach themselves from the walls. Cialella led the way to the stairwell and motioned for the Magos to come forward from his place at the rear as the rest of the squad took up defensive positions around the top of the stairs.

"You know where these lead?" She questioned.

"Affirmative," He clicked. "These run down to the amidships engineering deck, passing through several laboratory levels and servitor storage areas as well as crew quarters."

Merisier piped up from her position covering the corridor. "There might be escape pods in the crew areas!"

"Quiet, Novice." Cialella snapped, but looked hopefully at the Magos.

The man let out a mechanical sigh. "Unfortunately the pods are useless, only life support is still active."

"What about the communications array? It can't take much energy to send a broadwave message."

The Magos stood and a machadendrite snaked from under his robe, it clicked and a glowing red and green map was projected onto the bulkhead in front of him and the Sister Superior.

He gestured at the map with a syringe that sprouted from where a finger should have been. "We are there," He pointed again. "The communication suite is here." He tapped the map on an area that showed the upper bridge area of the _De Jucidibus. _

"Regrettably, these areas." He motioned at a large portion of the upper levels between squad Cialella and the bridge. "Have been breached and are either open to hard void, or have mated with the hulk itself and are… well, tainted."

"I think we've established that no part of this ship is going to remain untainted." Remarked Cialella acidly. "We need to find a way to the communications suite and send a message to Footfall so Lord Bruul is not caught unawares and can perhaps send this morass of death and heresy back into whatever accursed pit it was spawned from."

She traced a line down the side of the ship, under the areas Magelloran had pointed out as unusable and up to the bridge. "We'll go this…"

"Sister Superior!?" Merisier cut off the squad leader in a nervous squeak.

Meaning to chew out the novice for speaking out of turn again, Cialella rounded on her.

A voice familiar to them all, dripping with sarcasm floated along the corridor before she could speak.

"Going so soon, sisters? What happened to never leaving a woman behind?"

Novice Merisier and Sister Auala were backing slowly away down the corridor, bolters pointed at Sister DeVall.

Auala called out calmly and matter-of-factly. "Something's wrong with her eyes."

As she stepped under one of the light strips DeVall's eyes indeed flashed an unnaturally bright green as opposed to their previous dark brown. "I'm disappointed in you all…" She drawled and trailed a hand down the corridor wall nonchalantly. "Such fear… you spit such loving and sickening devotionals to your corpse-Emperor yet you fear death?"

Merisier started mumbling a litany under her breath.

DeVall laughed, showing rotted teeth and a blackened tongue. "Come on Saragh, that beautiful tongue of yours could be put to much better uses than praising a man long dead! My new father has shown me that we don't need to fear death, what could be more of a praise to life than to die, rot and let new life take over?"

Cialella drew her pistol and levelled it at her former comrade. "That isn't DeVall you're looking at Merisier, it's some Daemon using her body to frack with your mind."

DeVall sniggered. "Poor Saragh, that bitch won't even let you be known by your first name! I mean who…"

Cialella shot her. DeVall was a small woman and despite the power armour the mass reactive round propelled her several feet back into the corridor with a ragged hole blown in her chest.

"Get down the stairs! We're not wasting any more time here." Cialella covered her squad's flight down into the bowels of the ship, and as she followed she swore she heard a muttered. "…Rude."


End file.
